


Silver Leaf

by LacieRiverPanda27



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Angst, Bees, But so is everyone else, Case Fic, Cheating, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, I know it wasn't so bare with me, Infidelity, Love at First Sight, Mary is Not Nice, Multi, Mutual Pining, Rating May Change, Romance, Sexy Times, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good, Smut, So is John, This was literally a dream I had, for the sake of the fic homosexual marriage is ok, no period homophobia, rating did change, seriously turn back, spoiler in tags, there are other characters but they play smaller roles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 00:52:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4414691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LacieRiverPanda27/pseuds/LacieRiverPanda27
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dear Mr. Holmes</p><p>I am in urgent need of your services, I met you a few months ago at the Stamford's Winter Ball. It was the incident of the servant stealing from the Stamford family that you were brought your memory to my mind.  Mr. Holmes, I will speak plainly; I would like your help in gathering evidence against my husband so that I might divorce him. My husband's abusive nature towards me and the servants has finally reached it's limit when I discovered that a family heirloom, passed down to me from my mother, was missing. I believe with your help I can gather all the proof I need to make a stand against my husband and rightfully divorce him.</p><p>I invite you to stay for as long as you need at our estate as my guest. I regret that I will not be able to stay with you long, as my mother, who knows of the situation, longs for me to stay with her until my husband has been removed from our home and it is safe for me return. </p><p>Ever yours, Mary Watson</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> OK, so I literally dreamed part of this fic up last night, so that mean a LOT of improvising.

_The halls of Ashford estate were ringing with the sounds of a commotion. Dozens of people were gathered in these halls in celebration of the season as was tradition for the Stamford family. To host such a gathering was considered a pleasure, and to be invited, and honor. Among the voices that were lifted into the evening air was the sound of a high pitched laughter. But this laughter was not annoying or irritable, but could instead be consisted golden, and soothing. The woman’s voice was like a summer’s breeze; calm and inviting. There wasn’t a soul that had met her that wasn’t enchanted by her. Her silk like skin, the tone like a sandy beach, her golden, sun-like hair that fell in perfect ringlets. It was easy for anyone to become envious of her, but it was her meek and gentle spirit that cooled any hatred anyone could have against her. For her soul was sweet, and she was understanding, never rushed and always polite._

_Mrs. Mary Watson was an angel._

_But there was more to envy than just her perfected appearance. There was no party or ball completed without her warming presence. You would be sure to spot her, sitting away in some corner, surrounded by an audience coming to gawk at her colorful Paris gowns, ones that were rumored to never be worn twice. Her jewels decorating her neck and hands; rings of all sizes and necklaces of different lengths, always changing with each outfit. But always the same was a small locket, a gift from her doting husband._

_Captain Watson was never seen alongside his wife at these parties. There had even been a rumor that there was no ‘Mr. Watson’ and it was simply all a ruse to cover for the fact that Mary had found herself pregnant at such a young and tender age. This rumor was soon put to rest when Major Sholto, after being discharged, returned with stories about the young soldier. Captain John H. Watson was the son of a wealthy Lord who story was simple. He went to war the first chance he got, met and fell in love while on leave and married when he returned home for a holiday. It was not an uncommon scene to hear Mary Watson telling of how she missed her dear husband so, and how once he returned home for good she would see fit to never leave his side again._

_That was, until he did return home._

_Captain Watson returned home on a chilly autumn morning after being honorably discharged. Having been shot while trying to aid a fallen comrade. It was three months before Mrs. Watson was seen at another party. When she finally did appear, she told tales about how she hadn’t left his side for a moment and how he couldn’t even leave his bed and was completely depended on her alone._

_But still no one saw anything of the fabled ‘Captain Watson’._

_“Always busy! Ever since he was well enough to get out of bed his bed and move on his own, he hasn’t stop! Whether it’s hunting or gardening, even crafting! He’s always doing something!”_

_This was why Sherlock Holmes was instantly drawn to her._

_Michael Stamford had known Holmes for many years. They had attended the same school and took classes together. It was when Holmes took the path of crime solving that there acquaintance would have seemed to come to an end. That is, unless Michael hadn't forced his presence onto Holmes. While Holmes would moan and complain about Michael, he would never admit that he enjoyed that man's company from time to time. This was why he had come to the Stamford estate in the first place. Michael approached Holmes asking him if he had any cases he we working on currently. When Holmes responded that he was not, Michael tempted Holmes with an offer that if he came to his family's Winter Ball  he would provide him with one._

_"My father has noticed things disappearing around the estate, at first it was smaller things, now we are missing an entire portrait! A painting of my Grandfather in his uniform that used to hang off the wall in the East Wing is gone! Simply vanished! He suspects one of the servants, we all have our own theories of which one, but he would like an expert to come and look."_

_And that was why Holmes was at the Stamford's Winter Ball about to be introduced to a woman he had been longing to meet; Mrs. Mary Watson._

_“Why, Mrs. Mary Watson! I don’t believe you’ve had the pleasure of meeting my good friend Sherlock Holmes!” Michael said as he introduced the pair._

_“No, I don’t believe I have…Holmes, I’ve heard that name before. Tell me, are you a frequent visitor of the Will borrow Halls? I stay there from time-to-time during the harvest season.” Mary said as she stood up to greet Mr. Holmes._

_“No,” replied Holmes, “I’m afraid during the harvest I return to my family’s estate in France and do not return until the end of winter. In fact the only reason I am not there currently is because my father has taken to bed ill and is not well enough to play host._

_It was soon discovered that Mrs. Watson’s remembrance of Holmes name was because her cousin, who had been staying with her, had been an onlooker of a crime scene Holmes had been requested to look at. “Yes, it’s coming back to me, he said that the store’s owner had been killed during a bar fight, but because the assailant’s personnel, there was suspected foul play.” Mary recounted._

_“Yes, the assailant was a drunkard who had a debt larger than his pocket. In his fogged mind he smashed the owner’s head against a brick while he was being escorted out. Quite accidental, it was a complete waste of my time._

_Mary Watson’s love for adventure had become evident, as she demanded Holmes recount several of his cases to her. She had even managed to get a promise out of him to tell more after dinner. Holmes found himself not wanting to detach himself from Mary’s side, as he realized she was much cleverer than she let on. More than once during his recounting did she determined the culprit before he finished his story. He found her presence enjoyable and agreed to give her his address should she ever require his services._

_Their chatting was soon interrupted as a woman’s shrill rang out through the halls. Murmuring of robbery spread like wildfire as the victimized woman shouted near faint of a shadow man._ _Mrs. Willow had calm down soon after she was escorted out of the room by Mrs. Stamford and her son. Michael soon had Holmes summoned and asked Mrs. Willow to recount her story to him._

_“It was dreadful! I shan’t sleep tonight! That hellish face had been carved into my mind for all of eternity! Woe is me!”_

_“Please Linda,” spoke Mrs. Stamford gently, “Tell Mr. Holmes what has happened, Michael, run and get the police, but perhaps Mr. Holmes can help us before help my son returns?”_

_“Oh, Mr. Holmes!” Cried the Mrs. Willow, her face had become blotchy and eyes puffed up from her crying. “My tale is too terrible! But I shall try my hardest to, oh what horrible memories! I can see it clearly; me and my Edger were talking with the Goodmans’, their son just got married you see, when I happened to glance out the back window, when I saw , IT! That- that THING was dressed in darkness and had the face of a devil! It was carrying something, when it turned and looked me straight in the eye! I swear it upon my late mother, that monster had no good intentions!”_

_Holmes stood quietly as the woman babbled on about the ‘devilish face’, but soon excused himself to have a look about the backyards. Mrs. Willow’s story proofed to be true when footprints were found upon the ground by the windows. Holmes soon returned and asked Mrs. Stamford to tell the servants to take count of the family’s valuables, for he had a theory that a few of them wound be missing._

_“Mr. Holmes, you were right! A vase from the dining hall and half of our good silver is missing!” were Mrs. Stanford’s first words as she busted into the room Holmes was staying in. “I’m having our housekeeper take attendance of all our staff, please Mr. Holmes, do you have any idea what could have happened?”_

_Holmes stood from his place seated by an oak desk, he walked over and began recounting to Mrs. Stamford all that he had seen. “While out in the back, I noticed someone preparing one of the horses in the stable.  As Michael had already left there was no need for another horse; so someone was leaving. As far as I am aware all the guests are accounted for, so I suspect that your housekeeper will return soon with news that one of the staff members is missing. Your son has already informed me of the situation of your missing items, and I say you are correct in assuming one of the servants have been stealing from you. Something must have happened to cause them to panic and need to leave immediately.”_

_Holmes was correct; the housekeeper came with the report that all were accounted for, except a young footman named Russell, but he was assumed to have taken the rest of the evening off as no one was in need of their carriages until later that night._ _“Find whoever was closest to him, search his room, I believe there might have been some emergency that caused him to leave so suddenly.” Was Mr. Holmes last remake before retiring for the night._


	2. Silver Leaf Estate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I wasn't able to upload this yesterday as planned, but as some of you may have noticed AO3 was down partly yesterday due to technical problems. Thank god I've been working on WordDocument and everything had been saved! I had originally planned to post a chapter yesterday, then one between either today or tomorrow. But due to the later upload the next chapter will most likely (unless something comes up) between tomorrow and friday.

As the carriage pulled away from Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes pondered over the letter he had been sent from Mrs. Mary Watson. From his earlier introduction he had seen no evidence of abuse, but it was possible that the injuries had time to heal before the party. As Mary had mentioned earlier, her husband was a busy man, perhaps Mary had seen to keep him that way so that she might heal before going to the party.

Over a period of about a fortnight, Sherlock and Mary had exchanged several letters; Mary was to spend a few nights at the house before she would leave by carriage to stay the remainder of time at her mother’s house under the pretense that she was carrying for her ailing mother.  Sherlock would have an undisclosed amount of time to investigate the Watson house and was to send word to Mary as soon as he was finished. Mary had written saying that the first few days he could search the house freely because Mr. Watson would not be returning home until the day after next. The Watson’s estate had been the topic of many gossiping women.  Some had said that Mary’s husband had bought only the finest for his wife and had planned on having a large family before going to war. Others argued that the Watson’s lived modestly, and that their ‘estate’ was more of an exaggeration. Others still claimed that the Watson’s estate had been passed down through family members, and had been in the family for generations.

Whatever the truth maybe, it was certainly true that the Watson’s lived a luxurious lifestyle. The driveway to the house was over a mile long, going through brushes bearing colorful wild flowers and trees that had been grown and trimmed to hang overhead.  When the estate itself finally came into view, Sherlock was left breathless. More like a castle than estate, the name [‘Silverleaf](http://www.bakewellderbyshire.com/gallery/5.html)’ hung from a large metal gate that they passed through. The pieces began to fit together, Sherlock had heard the name before; Silverleaf was known to be centuries old estate, one of the largest in the area. An old cobblestone pathway twisted towards the house and met the road. The house was a mixture of both English Baroque and Italianate architectural styles. It was as tall as it was wide; in a rectangular shape it stood casting a long shadow across the front courtyard. The entrance was in the west, and had elegant curved double staircase.

As the carriage stopped in front of the staircase, two young boys followed by an older man began setting to work taking Sherlock’s bags and opening the door awaiting their new guest.

“Good afternoon Mr. Holmes, I am Philip, the head butler, and this is Archie, he will be your valet during your stay. If you will follow me, sir, Mrs. Watson is waiting for you in the drawing room.” The butler’s cold façade remained a perfect mask as he turned and lead Mr. Holmes away from the carriage and into the house.

 

Sherlock watched as the two younger boys struggled to carry his luggage up the staircase. The boys quietly chatted to themselves, moaning about the laziness of the other servants and whether or not they would ‘get a shilling out’a this one!’.  As Sherlock watched the boys he began silently making deductions about them. One of them, clearly the older one, was on his own without any family to speak of. Most likely a family member once worked here and the boy was offered a job as a means to care for him. The other boy clearly was use to living among animals. _Probably a stable boy who was sent out when they realized they were short of hands_ Sherlock though. So deep in his thoughts that Sherlock almost hit Philip's back when he stopped to open the main doors. The inside of the estate was just as grand as the outside, perhaps even more so. Not a speck of dust or dirt, nor any signs of neglect to any of the plants. A couple of servants hurried by, but tried to keep themselves out of sight of any guests. Sherlock kept this in mind; he began to wonder how the staff’s relations with their employers were. Was there any loyalties disputes? Did they favor one master more than the other? Perhaps that was how Mr. Watson was able to attain Mary’s jewels; by going through the servants.  Sherlock had several different theories, but he would need to look deep, beyond the surface, to uncover the mystery that was Mr. Watson.

* * *

 Mary Watson sat in front of a large, unlit, fireplace. She wore a long slink dress that was pure white. Her hair done up, so that not one piece of hair was touch the rest of her, yet danged at the ends. She smiled as Sherlock entered the room, and placed her cup of tea down as she stood to greet him. “Sherlock, I’m so glad to see you! These past few days have been quite well to me. My husband is away at the moment, giving me a few days of peace before his inevitable return. Please, won’t you sit down and enjoy a cup of tea?

Sherlock was genuinely glad to see Mary, she was always pleasant, even during their letters when she would describe her husband’s hideous abuse towards her, she always kept an aura of joy surrounding her. Even now, with a black bruise framing her hazel eyes, she had a kind smile gracing her face, as if there wasn't a thing wrong in the world.

“My dear woman, what has happened to you eye? Was this the result of your notorious husband’s temper?” Sherlock said as he embraced her, then letting her go to return to her seat, him taking the one across from her.

“Please do not speak of it, I brought it upon myself. I could tell he had been quite already stressed, but continually pestered him asking question after question about his departure.”

“So, where has he scampered off to then?”

“Oh he left for the fortnight, visiting an army friend of his who is on leave, Murry I believe his name was? He is returning soon though, so please, feel free to search the house to your heart’s content while he is away. I hold no secrets and will answer any questions you have. There is no place or room in this house that is off limits to you so please,” Mary said with a bright and cheerful smile, “Do your worst.”

* * *

  Despite Silverleaf’s grand halls and many luxuries, Sherlock found many rooms to be quite homely and inviting. Each room had their window curtains pulled back, filling them with warm sunlight and giving them a pleasant glow. Every room had a theme of warm, light colors; lights browns and beige were used in the coloring of the curtains that matched the furniture. The walls of four different rooms were painted a shade of a pale yellow. On his way to his room, Sherlock noticed in a sitting room next to the dining hall, a cream white couch with sky blue pillows. A grassy green carpet was placed underneath it, brightening up the dark wooden floorboards.

Sherlock’s own room was a complete contrast to the rest of the house; with deep reds and dark browns, the room had a very gothic feeling to it. The room was quite simply, a four post bed, vanity bureau, a small closet and a small dresser. [The Red Room](https://www.flickr.com/photos/125968443@N02/16156797480/), it would be forever labeled in his mind; the red curtains on the windows, the red walls, the red carpeting, the red chairs and the red bed curtains. The gold trimming and the dark brown furniture were the only relief his eyes were given from the on slaughter of the color red that cloak the entire room.

“Mrs. Watson has informed me that until Mr. Watson’s return the entirety of the house and staff is at your disposal.” Philip said as he showed Sherlock the room. “Please, if you have any concerns, just ring and either I or our housekeeper, Mrs. Medlock will assist you.”

As Sherlock took in the room and began unpacking his things, he turned back to the butler. “Thank you Philip, a question, if I may. How would you describe Mr. Watson?”

The butler stood silent for a moment, and then gave his answer. “Mr. Watson is a man I would never trifle with. For the most part, he keeps to himself and never causes any need for a fuss. But there have been moments, when a wrath stirs up and unpredictable results are ensued. It perplexes me, Mrs. Watson is very protective of her husband, but there have been days on end where they would fight with such a force, then have absolutely no regard for one another.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Silverleaf Estate was inspired by Chatsworth is Derbyshire, England (the Darcy's house in Pride and Prejudice 2005) and also by The Breakers and The Marble House in Newport, Rhode Island, both of which I've had the pleasure in visiting. 
> 
> Sherlock's room is an actually room in the Marble House which I found very odd. Much like the in the story, most of the house had room schemes with bright colors but then suddenly I walked into a bedroom which looked like something out of a horror movie. The room had dimly lit lights, the curtains were closed and the whole room was covered in red. The room just looked out of place but still was quite beautiful and I fall instantly in love with it.
> 
> I forget the whole story but the guide told us there was a young girl who usual to live in that room whose mother was training her to be a perfect bride. So she made her sit in front of the mirror and brush her hair for hours on end. While the rest of the house looked lively and beautiful, she had to stay in this dark and gloomy room. her mother didn't even allow to have any personal items out in plain sight in the room, only toiletries were allowed on the bureau and everything had to be put away. If I remember correctly, the young girl got married, then was divorced and became a suffragette I believe.


	3. A Story to Tell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for not updating sooner! A lot has happened here at home and to top it all off; my computer scene is damaged! Some of the pixels on the right hand corner have gone all... weird. Also the bottom half of my computer scene is purple! But luckily I was able to josle it back to normal! But should it need to in for fixing, the next chapter might take a little while longer, nothing is for sure yet!
> 
> P.S. John is coming up in the next few chapters.

As Sherlock went and joined Mary Watson for dinner, the lady promised him a tour after they finished their meal. "Oh Sherlock, this place is honestly my favorite place in the entire world! Ah, I still remember the first time I set eyes upon it. I felt like peasant in my own home!" Sherlock encouraged Mary and asked her to tell him of the early days of her marriage to Mr. Watson.

"It wasn't always like this," she began.

"There was a time when I felt like we were truly in love. I met my husband when I was twenty, and he twenty and five. I knew his sister from the times I had seen her at salon in town, but had never met her family. Harriet, his sister, introduced us. It was at a New Year's ball, and what a ball it was!  He was so kind to me, I never met a man so gentle, yet so passionate. But I admit, I was quite young and entirely foolish. We married only a few days later with, surprisingly, both of our parent's blessings. It was soon after that he left for the army, only coming home during his leaves until this past year. He was shot trying to save a fallen soldier. But once he fully recovered, it was found that he could not fulfill his duties under pressure, and was forced to return home."

 

During the time she spoke, Mary fell under a trance like state, only awaking after she finished speaking about her husband's past. "I think it was the war that changed him. He refused to speak to anyone once he returned home. His past haunts him, I believe, and now he takes it out on me. Because of this I cannot continue on with him. He is no longer the sweet young man I married, he is paranoid and suspicious. He acts without true motive; should he believe he is being wronged, he will convince himself that he acting in the right and that all else is false."  Mary stopped to take a deep breath. "That is why i need your help, Sherlock. I know my husband; he won't ever leave me alone. He would take me to his grave if he could, and that is my fear, that he might find a way."

 

Dinner was a quiet affair, filled with comfortable silence and ease. Sherlock politely gave his compliments to the chef and ponder upon all that he had learned. He felt like something was missing, from what he had seen and heard, Mr. Watson and his wife seemed to be quite affectionate with each other, even now. Yet Mary hadn't once said her husband's first name, only calling him her 'dear husband'. The butler had painted Mr. Watson as a calm man with a fierce temper. Yet Mary had said he was paranoid and suspicious, but of what? Did he think his wife was cheating on him? Or that own servants plotted against him? What could have brought him to those conclusions? Was the war really the cause of Mr. Watson's problems? Mary left him with more questions than answers with her story. Once their dishes were cleared and they were satisfied, Mary stood and joined her and Sherlock's arms as she strolled with him down the halls of her house. "This place is old; it has been in the Watson family for generations. Harriet told me once that it was build during the 1500's, but I scarcely believe her. After their father's death the estate went to my husband, and I believe she was jealous. Harriet always told me such wild stories about this place, once she even tried to convince me it was haunted with their grandfather's spirit!"

 "Tell me about the Watson family, what were they like?" Sherlock inquired.

 "As I said, I only knew Harriet from town, but after my dearest left for the army, I spend much of my time here staying with his family. Harriet was, in a word, outgoing. If ever there was a party, even one she was uninvited, she would be there! And for each one she had a different gentleman escort her. It wasn't until her brother returned that she married and settled down. Harriet loved her brother dearly, but I believe deep down that she secretly wanted him to die at war. Not out of spite towards her brother, but that he might have a glorious death, and that she might inherit Silver leaf without feeling guilty. To be honest, I felt horrible when I was told we were to inherit this place. Harriet was heavily pregnant with her second child, and here I was without one."

 "What about their father, the late Mr. Watson, what was he like?"

 "Honestly, I never liked him. He cared more about traditions and how the public viewed him than his own children. Harriet once told me that he was very dotting towards their mother, and that he was as loving as a man could ever be. Harriet romanticized him, made him to be the father she wished he was. I met him only a few times, but when then, I was disgusted with him. But both Harried and her brother loved him so much, I couldn't bear to say a word! They spoke often of how devastated he was after their mother died. She died in childbirth, neither her or the child made it. "

 As Mary showed Sherlock into the family library, Sherlock asked her a question that had began to bug him. "There were rumors Mary, that you were once pregnant. You said that your husband came home during his leaves, did you ever try for a child?"

A sad smile made its way across Mary's face. "Yes, we did once. I had only been married for about a year before we agreed that we wanted children. We were so happy when the doctor told us I was pregnant. But our joy was soon stolen as I miscarried during my fourth month." Mary felt a hand rest of her shoulder; she reached her soft hand up and placed her own over Sherlock's.

"We never spoke about it; I suspect that was when we truly began to drift apart."

Sherlock thought to himself, he never met such a woman as Mary. He felt bonded to her, and it was this bond that made him feel obligated to help her in any way he could. She was special to him; he could see the cleverness and sharpness in her eyes. But they were dulled and put out by her love. Mary had tied herself to her husband, and perhaps felt forced to love him. After all, the man had lost his parents, a sibling, and his own child. Either way, Sherlock couldn't wait to see Mary once she was on her own. Where would she go?  She never spoke about her own family, did she have any? Would they be willing to take her in once she was separated from her husband? She had said they gave her their blessing to marry Mr. Watson. But none of it mattered, if need be, Sherlock would see to it that Mary Watson was taken care of.


	4. A Most Forgettable Man

That night, Sherlock sat up reading over and writing notes. He found it useful to have hardcopies, after all, his mind was like a steam engine, it could not stop for a second to try and recall small details. After some time, Sherlock looked upwards to find it was half-past ten. Feeling the exhaustion from his trip and the long day, he disrobed and began to dress for bed. Settling in, he locked away his small black book which contained his notes in the table drawer next to the bed. Sherlock closed his eyes and felt his bones and muscles go limp. Accompanying his thoughts were his plans for the next day; with permission, he wished to have a more detailed look at the master bedroom. While Mary had her own room, she slept with Mr. Watson in his room. Afterwards, he would have to speak with the staff. Starting with the butler, Philip, Sherlock had a hunch the staff, or at least those working in the house, knew more about both the Mr. and Mrs. Watson than either of them realized. 

* * *

 

 

 A horse's neigh woke Sherlock from his deep sleep. As his eyes began to clear and adjust to the darkness, Sherlock realized that it was still night. Confusion set in as he stumbled around the room trying to find the lamp which had gone out during his slumber. Retrieving a match, Sherlock lit a small candle that was upon a handle. with little difficulty, Sherlock slowly walked towards the window. Looking out, Sherlock saw small figures running across the lawn towards the barn where the light was coming from. A horse and its rider thundered across the yards as it approached the stables. As they entered, the gates were closed behind them and the figures began crowding around to attending them.

A few moments passed, then suddenly the house doors were thrown open so loud they were heard throughout the entire house. Footsteps pounded the stairs as multiple sets of feet ran up and down them. The house went eerily quiet for a few moments, and in those moments Sherlock considered ringing Philip to ask what the commotion was. But soon the main doors were opened and shut once again leaving the house quiet once more. 

Returning to the window, Sherlock looked out to see the lights of the stables lite again and the staff running about, some of them carrying large items, others preparing the horses. This time when the gates were opened, a carriage left, crossing the yards at lightning speeds. 

Something had happened, something of importance. Had a letter been received? But why bring out the carriage? Had Mary left the estate? As these questions buzzed around Sherlock's head, he took out his small notebook and wrote down all that had happened, and then returned to bed. 

* * *

 

Morning came with apprehension and curiosity. As Sherlock walked the halls before breakfast, he noticed the servants were tense, and would shy away whenever they walked by him. It was Philip who handed him a letter from Mary, "Mrs. Watson informed me to give this to you, and her previous instructions still stand; you have access to every room in the house and are free to search them as you like."

Sherlock thanked Philip and was shown to the dining room where breakfast was being served.

"I should also like to inform you that in Mrs. Watson's departure, word has been received regarding Mr. Watson. I have been informed to tell you that he will not be returning until a later date, and in his place his cousin shall oversee the affairs of the estate. Should you have any concerns, please feel free to speak with him, as he will be joining you for breakfast." While the servants began laying the food out on the table, Sherlock opened the letter Mary had left for him. 

 

_Sherlock,_

_I regret to inform you that I have received some troubling news from my family. My parents have both come down with a fever and are in need of someone to look after both them and the house in their absence. According to his note, the doctor said the fever is not fatal, but that they will be bedridden for the rest of the season. Please stay as long as you feel necessary and do write when you have gathered everything you need. I will write again to keep you informed and hopefully have a date for when I shall return._

_You Good Friend,_

_Mary Watson_

 

Folding the letter, Sherlock placed it in his breast pocket and began eating his meal. Were her parents really ill, or was this some plan to get her away from the estate? Sherlock's thoughts were interrupted as a short, blonde haired fellow entered the room. His back set straight as he marched across the dining room until he came faced-to-face with Sherlock. Shaking himself from his mind, Sherlock quickly remembered his manners and stood to greet the man with a bow.

"Good morning sir, you must be Mr. Holmes.  I'm David's cousin, John Watson. It's a pleasure to meet you. I hope you don't mind me interrupting your breakfast."

"Ah, yes, good to meet you, and please, Sherlock will be fine."

  _David?_

* * *

 Sherlock found John to be quite an enjoyable companion. He answered nearly all of Sherlock's questions and was truly amazed by his 'powers of deduction', as John referred to them. Sherlock learned that Mary's husband's first name was David, and that his mother and John's were sisters. He also learned that David and John had served together, and that John had only recently retired from the army and was visiting before going to London to stay with his older brother until he could find a place of his own.

But John had told none of this to Sherlock.  

Perhaps it was the pure look of awe, or the childlike wonder that filled his eyes as Sherlock rattled off his deductions. But once he was finished, John gasped out 'extraordinary' and Sherlock knew that this man was like no other he had ever had the good pleasure of meeting. During breakfast, John requested Sherlock recount to him some of his adventures.

And so he began.

James Swandale and Phil Dickinson were circus performers who had given up a life of entertainment for a life of crime. The case started out rather odd, as someone had been sending Sherlock a single pearl in an envelope with no return address each week for entire month. Finally, at the end of the month, a package came. Different from the others, there was a return address, and inside was a Mother-of-Pearl shell. Taking a cab to the address, he was greeted by a jewelry store owned by a Daniel Brennan. Inside the store though, Sherlock found the body of Daniel Brennan, lying at his office desk, who had been shot with a poison dart. But what was even more interesting, was that next to Daniel, where letters from James Swandale containing the detail of his next heist. Swandale was an infamous Jewel thief who could get away with many of his heists due to his size. Swandale was dwarf, which made it easier for him to get into even the most protected buildings. Obviously it was trick, a diversion to get Sherlock to go to the wrong place. But Swandale's big mistake was that he let it slip that he had gotten hold of the building plans for 'Isadoras'.

Sherlock explained that it was his landlady, Mrs. Hudson, who had informed him that Isadoras was a jewelry shop just a couple of streets away from Baker Street. So, of course, a stakeout was in order. It was that night that Sherlock met Swandale, who had his poisoned darts with him, and his circus pale, Phil Dickinson, better known as The Headcrusher. After confronting Sherlock inside the shop, they gave chase and the three came to an impasse when Sherlock blocked the attic door, trapping the men on the roof. Luckily, a neighbor had called the police of some 'suspicious' behavior by the shop or Dickinson would have gotten away. DI Lestrade was able to capture The Headcrusher, but unfortunately, due to his size, Swandale was accidently pushed off the roof by his partner when they were corned when the police arrived. As it had turned out, someone had wanted Sherlock dead, and instead of hiring a hit man, decided it would be cheaper to hire jewel thieves. Dickinson never gave away the name of the man who wanted Sherlock dead, but did inform the Scotland Yard of the location of the jewels they had stolen.

"Aren't you afraid?" John asked once Sherlock finished telling his tale.

"Of what?"

"The man who hired the jewel thieves? Do you think he may try another attempt at your life?" 

The two men stood as the servants began clearing the table of their empty dishes and made their way over to the drawing room where a fire was lit. "If I were to cower in fear every time someone made an attempt at my life, I would forever be trapped in a state of fear, than what would I get done? I know the risks that happen in my line of work, tell me, you're a soldier, did you run every time you were shot at?"

John smiled as he laughed, "No, goodness no, my commander would have had my arse had I!" A realization came to the two men, how alike they both were. Both flirted with death and kept danger as their mistress.

"Tell me John, your cousin Mary left me a note excusing her abstinence, but made no mention of you, why might that be?" Sherlock asked as he took out a match and lit his pipe. John only gave a fond but annoyed laugh. "You'll find that I am quite forgettable. My cousins even once forgot that I was staying with them over the holidays and began preparing to journey to visit some friends in France. You see, that is why they trust me with the keeping of their estate. I took care of it while they were away in France!" 

And so, John began his to share his knowledge of Silver leaf, each room having their tale to tell, every hall containing fond memories, and each yard of land holding a precious moment imprinted into its soil. Every one of these was unlocked by John, the forgettable man but know everything.


	5. Peculiar Rules

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry for being so late! But big news (for me anyways), I got a job! Nothing big, just a part-time job as a cashier for a restaurant. Lately, this job has been very taxing on me. While I am still going to try and aim for a once-a-week update, this may become impossible. 
> 
> If you are following any of my other stories, I am sorry to announce that until this story is completed all my stories (with the exemption of 'Never Never, Ever Ever') on hold. I am not abandoning them, but beginning in January, I will be starting college. So with work, plus college, plus my personal life (lot of stuff going on there), managing multiple stories is just too much. I promise I will continue them, but only after this story is complete!

"Oh he's such a proper gentleman, Maggie! Not like that Mr. Thatcher who came to visit last month. I went up to make the beds this morning, and his luggage Maggie! One suit of his is worth more than a month's pay!"

"I heard he's Mrs. Watson lover, come to scare off the Master, fat chance he'll have! The man's not even here! Just makin' a fool of himself he is!"

"Oh you know nothing Jane! But the commotion last night! Would have thought the barns were on fire with all the rushin' about! With the Lady herself leaving so suddenly last night, god knows what  _really_  goin' on around here!"

"Oh Molly! You'll never believe what I just heard! Susie went up to serve breakfast to the Master and the guest, and she says Mr. Holmes has a bit of 'wandering hands’; maybe you could get a shilling out of him! Janie here tells me Mr. MacDonald, you know the one with the chin, gave her five shillings for keepin' her mouth shut!"

"Oh shush Maggie! You mustn't talk that way! What if someone were to hear you?"

Silverleaf estate was a quiet place, not much happened and no one lived close enough to visit. Those who did visit were either friends of the family or on strictly business. Large business meeting took place in London, so any visits that were business related were far and few. During their lunch break, all the maids, cooks, and any of the staff off, would gather and exchange any gossip that was worth hearing. The latest story to make its way about was that of Kristy, one of the kitchen staff, who apparently believed that the Master valet's was madly in love with her, and had planned to ask her to run away with him. The whole thing turned out to be untrue, as Mrs. Danvers had Kristy come forth and the poor girl had to reveal that she had been sneaking out to a second job she had acquired down at the pub. But all this was quickly put out of mind as The Guest had arrived.

Only known as Mr. Holmes, none of the staff had been told, except Philip as it turned out, of Mr. Holmes' stay. So when the order to prepare one of the guest rooms came in, word quickly spread of their mysterious guest. One maid said he was a relative, another said that he was a stranger passing by needing a room to stay in for the night, and still another said that he was from Scotland Yard. But after the departure of Mrs. Watson and the arrival of John Watson the previous night, even more ridiculous stories began spreading. 

* * *

 

Sally had not been spared by these stories when she had first arrived at Silverleaf. Used as currency when her employer lost a bet to Mr. Watson, and having no to extra cash on him, the drunk fool ask if instead of money that his wife's personal maid be a suitable substitute. Sally was quickly turned over to Mrs. Watson and told the rules of the house. 

_"Gertrude is away this evening, so I'll show you where the servants' quarter is and have Philip show you the rest. There are a few things you should be aware of here at Silverleaf. One, everyone, excluding myself and my husband, is to answer by their Christian name. Only my husband and I are permitted the knowledge of our staff's surnames. If you are uncomfortable with yours, you are allowed to give whatever name you wish to be referred to by. Just know that only myself and my husband are to have both your Christian and surname._

_"Two, keep to yourself, I don't mind you getting friendly with the other staff, just know that if I hear word that you and any of the men here are... 'getting cozy', I won't give a second thought to putting you out. Scandal is the last thing we need here._

_"Three, don't ask questions."_

After that evening, Mrs. Watson never spoke another word to Sally. Her orders either came from Gertrude, the housekeeper, or Philip the butler. True to her word, everyone on the estate would answer to their Christian names. So far there had been three Mary's, two Susans' and another maid named Sally. Which, as you can imagine, made things rather confusing at times. But after a few weeks in the Watson's employment, Sally found that the Watson's were rather known for their particularities. 

There was no tea time.

Instead tea was served whenever the Master or Mistress called for it, which happened so often that Chef, one of the Marys', kept a kettle of water boiling at all times. 

Breakfast was to be served at Eight twenty-five and not a minute before or after. Breakfast was always to be served with a side of fruit or some type of bread, depending on the meal. Lunch was not to brought out until after the Mr. and Mrs. Watson had been seated at the table for at least five minutes. The servants were not allowed to take a break for lunch either a half an hour before or after the Watson's had lunch. Dinner was to be served on the good silver every night.  The good silver must be washed, accounted for, and put away before the staff may have their dinner. If any the silver went missing, the servants would not be allowed to eat until all the silver is found and put back in their casing. 

And lastly, none of the servants are allowed to wander the estate or grounds after the eleventh hour. Any servants caught out of their rooms face immediate termination. This rule was taken with extreme seriousness. The only exception was because of a direct order from the masters. As an example of the rule's utmost seriousness, the story of Toby the Stable boy was told. 

Betsy and her daughter had been in the Watson's service the longest, and swore by the Lord Almighty name's that the story was true. Often told as Betsy was preparing a meal, the woman's modulated voice made the story sound all the more real. 

_"When my molly was nothin' more than a mere babe, there was this young lad, went by Toby. Seein' as he was one of the stable boys, I didn't know much 'bout him. He was nice enough, always sweet towards the ladies, good manners, and never made any fuss 'bout anythin'. One night one of the other boys, oh Ben I think he name was, told him that him and some of the other lads were going to stay up and play some cards to gamble over who would do what chores the next morning. Poor lad, he left his bed and went down to the kitchen to meet the other boys only to be caught by Mr. Watson. Never did hear from him again, Kirk, he's in charge of the barns, said that Mr. Watson had him whipped then sent him on his way without any pay. So you mock my words, if you're out-and-about past Eleven, you'd best beware! 'Cause if anyone sees ya, you'll find your things packed up and on the street without a shilling to your name!"_

Philip didn't seem to take Mrs. Hooper's story with any sincerity. For surely, if he did, he wouldn't have asked Sally to meet him that night. But how risky could it be? With both the Mister and Missus gone, who would be there to catch them? After all, they had met in the cover of the night multiple times before without being find out. Philip was the head butler; he was second only under Gertrude. But would he extend his covering over Sally should they be caught? That was a question Sally didn't want to answer. But all her plans were thrown out as he came in contact with The Guest that morning. 

As Sally helped to serve breakfast, she first saw their guests. The first was familiar, but the second shock he to her core. After hearing Mr. Holmes' 'deductions', Sally was sure the man would be able to take one look at her and reveal her plans to sneak out that night. Sally decided there and then that she would make every effort to avoid this man. How could someone have such a gift? To be able to look at someone and know their whole life story, their personality, their intentions. It wasn't natural, it was freakish. But Sally would never admit so, let the maids have their little fantasies. Many of them wouldn't have to see Mr. Holmes, too business with their usual chores. That was how servants operated, out of sight so to be out of mind. 

However, during the staff's breakfast, Gertrude made an announcement.  

"Mrs. Watson has given our guest, Mr. Holmes, full liberty of the house and its staff in order to find a precious missing heirloom of hers. So one at a time, each one of the staff will be questioned by Mr. Holmes. We will continue with our normal routines, but at any given time, should Mr. Holmes deem it necessary, you will pause in your duties, answer all his questions truthfully, and then carry on with your duties. Of course, due to the large size of the staff, this will continue on for the next few days. So be prepared to be called on for at a moment's notice." 

 As breakfast was being served, the servants began cleaning the rooms, as the gentlemen would settle into the study after they finished their meal. First they would begin with the Master's room, then the Missus' room, and then any guest rooms that had been stayed in or that needed airing. Young Molly, only being a trainee, was sent off to make the guest room beds. It was there she first encountered Mr. Holmes. Much to the report of the other staff, he was tall, dark, and handsome. But what struck her most was his face. While most found Mr. Holmes' features sharp and angular. But while Molly also recognized the sharpness, she also noticed how his face seemed to smooth off. His thin physique, she thought amusingly, would not last, as she was sure her mother would take delight in trying to fill him out.

Molly found Mr. Holmes distracted by a little black book and the task of shrugging on an overcoat as he exited the room, without so much as giving her a passing glance. Molly was use to this behavior by guests. While at times it did make her a bit feel disconcerted, as she was a born and raised in the estate, it was just another part of life. Mr. Holmes was a very neat man. If Molly had not seen the man come out of the room with her own two eyes, she would have thought the room had not been used at all. Nearly all the furniture was in the same exact spot as they were while the room was last made. The bed looked, perhaps a bit sloppy, remade, there were no clothes out from the previous night, the face cloth, although wet, had been refolded and placed back into its original spot next to the water bowl. Molly spent a total of ten minutes cleaning and remaking Mr. Holmes' room. With only one guest, Molly was finished with her chores for the moment and quickly went to find Maggie to tell her everything she learned of Mr. Holmes. 

 

John Watson knew more than he let on. Not just about Silverleaf, but about everything in general. From the history of the Watson's, to facts about the plants that grew in the gardens. There was something intriguing about the shorter man. As Sherlock and he walked the grounds, Sherlock found it quite natural to have John by his side. While carrying a conversation with John was easier than with most, it was the comforting silence that amazed Sherlock. While in the presence of other people, Sherlock felt awkward and uncomfortable, but with John the silence felt like a mutual agreement.  John arranged for the housekeeper to be the first of the staff that Sherlock would interview. John lead Sherlock into his cousin's private office.

"To be honest, I've never really been in his area of the house. While this house held many fond memories, I prefer the outdoors, and try to spend as much of my time here outside." John said as he and Sherlock sat down on two chairs opposite of each other. 

"How much do you know about the housekeeper?" Sherlock asked the man before him.

"Her name is Gertrude; she's worked here since I was child, so just over twenty years. She came here about a week after the last housekeeper was caught stealing from the family and the staff. She's Polish I believe, but grew up here in England. From what I understand she has some family in Poland, but none she is close with. My cousin mentioned once that she is a widow. Beyond that, not much I'm afraid. I call for some tea, shall I? I shan't disturb you."

Sherlock was actually disappointed that John did not want to stay and listen in. But before Sherlock could ask him to stay, the man was gone and out the door. Sherlock thought upon what John had told him, twenty years means that she is either close to the family, or very good at her job, or both. Sherlock looked up as the lady in question gave a knock and then entered the room.  Gertrude walked slowly and gracefully, her gray skirt draping just above the ground as she took the empty chair across from Sherlock. Her wise brown eyes met Sherlock's, unafraid, daring him to look down upon her. With her graying hair placed tightly upon her head, she sat straight, in a pose that had been perfected over the many years of her service. 

"I find it quite odd that I am given your Christian name Gertrude. Tell me; is it not unusual for a member of the staff to be called by his or her Christian name?" Sherlock questioned as he pressed his hands to his chin. The housekeeper gave off no sign of nervousness. She was the perfect image of indifference and detachment.

 "It is Mr. and Mrs. Watson's wishes." She said in a static voice.

"Are all the staff called by their Christian names?"

"Yes, sir."

"By whose request was this?"

"By my Mr. and Mrs. Watson's, sir."

"Did they give any reason behind this?"

"None, sir."

"It quite strange is it not? Tell me, are Mr. and Mrs. Watson the only ones who know the last names of all the staff?"

"I am aware of the last names of the staff that have come on within the first few years of my service. After Mr. Watson married I was given instructions not to ask for the surnames of any of the staff. Should I need to correspond with any of them or their families, I was to go to Mr. or Mrs. Watson and they would send off any letters."

Each time she answered, it was with the same tone of voice. Her expression never changed, the only movement the lady made was the blinking of her eyes. If anything, the woman seemed inconvenienced. With very answer she mentioned Mr. and Mrs. Watson, it seemed she was favoring neither one of them. It would be a gamble, but Sherlock would have to count on her years of service to be fonder of Mr. Watson and hopefully she would let something slip.

"I have reason to believe that your employer is in danger. Have you seen or heard anything out of the ordinary?"

Something shifted in the housekeeper's mannerisms. Uneasiness settled over her as she took a breath and gave her answer. "Lately, I have noticed Mr. Watson acting... peculiar. Nothing alarming, but he did seem mighty frustrated right before he left. It's not my place, sir, but I did once come to find Mr. and Mrs. Watson in a heated argument when I was bringing their afternoon tea. I don't know for sure what happened between the two of them, but just before I went to open the door I heard a crashing sound. I came in to find Mr. Watson turned away from the Mrs. and herself clutching the side of her face."

Sherlock was surprised that the housekeeper of over twenty years was willing to give away such discriminating information. "Is Mr. Watson known to be a violent man?"

"Before the war, no, he won't have hurt even the most deserving of men. But after, he was changed, and not for the better."

"Has he ever turned his 'frustration' towards any of the staff?"

"None have said so, sir. But the kitchen staff and a few of the maids have commented that they have been approached by other staff members asking for bandages." Gertrude paused for a moment, with a quick glance towards the doors she continued on. "I am not at liberty to say anything, but I do know that there are a few staff members with whom Mr. and Mrs. trust more than others. While I can't tell you on what matters exactly, I can give you their names and whom and placed their trust with them." Out from her dress pocket, the housekeeper pulled out a single piece of paper, stood and handed to Sherlock. 

"I'm afraid that's not much more I can tell you. But they can. Now if you will excuse me, sir, I have my duties to return to."

With a nod Sherlock dismissed her and the housekeeper left the room. As she left, John returned, with a bright smile and a maid in tow who was carrying two large netted hats. 

"How do you feel about bees?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things regarding ages, everyone is younger by almost ten years. John is in his mid-thirties, both Sherlock and Mary around the same age, which is late-twenties to early-thirties. Molly, however, I decided would be much more fun to write if she were around twenty years old. 
> 
> Also, I would like to remind everyone that I do not have a beta. I tried to fix as many mistakes as I could, so if you spot any, just let me know in the comments!


	6. Assistance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh guys, I'm so sorry for not posting! But it wasn't actually my fault! I've been having screen issues with my computer, so my dad checked the warranty and we sent it in to be fixed. That was in November! I just got it back like, last week and then started working on the next chapter. I'm also working on going back and making some edits to previous chapters. 
> 
> Also in news of my life, next month, I will be officially starting college! This means that I will have school during the week and work on the weekends. While we're nowhere near the end, I'm not making this a super long story. So hopefully I'll be able to work ahead on some chapters so I can have something to post while I'm at school/work.

The bright and fiery sun shone over the gardens of Silverleaf estate, Sherlock watched in amazement as John slowly opened the draws of the beehive. There were five in all, each with two drawers and a little wooden roof. The five were placed in a circle; all facing each other. On each of the red drawers there was a number carved into it.

“We use to have ten hives, but after grandfather died there was a large storm that took out three of the hives. With all the damage done to the land, there wasn’t enough food to go around. After the fourth hive died out, my father sold another one to a friend of his.”

The hive seemed well cared for; although it was obvious John was quite hesitant as he prepared to open the first draw. In John’s hand, he held an uncapping knife, and readied besides him was an uncapping tank. It was clear John was familiar with the process of extracting honey.

“I haven’t done this in awhile, the gardener has a nephew, Archie, he loves the bees probably more than my grandfather. When I gave him the job of caring for them in the winter, he was thrilled!”

As John began the process of uncapping the honey combs, Sherlock watched with deep fascination as the honey went from the tank into the extractor. Once John was done uncapping the combs, he turned to the extractor and began cranking it. Out from the spigot, honey flowed onto a strainer catching any debris or dead bees. In the strainer, Sherlock noticed some small movement. On closer inspection, he noticed a bee struggling against the flow of honey.

Reaching a hand out, Sherlock scooped up the bee with a single finger. Wet with honey, the small insect could do nothing but twitch its wings and buzz irritatedly. Sherlock walked over to the draw and placed the small bee back inside. Once the bee was safely back inside, Sherlock tilted his head and peeked inside the beehive. The buzzing was like a secret language, a chatter only the bees understood. Many of the bees flew passed Sherlock’s face, seeing the drawer open and wanting to explore more of the world beyond.

“I’m not much of beekeeper; I like more of what comes before.”

“Before?” Sherlock questioned as he straightened back up at to stare at his new friend.

“The flowers, my mum use to take me with her into the gardens to help her tend to them. I was always amazed at how delicate a thing could stand such harsh weather; die over seasons, only to blossom again once spring came. If you're still here in a few weeks, perhaps we’ll see some of them opening.” It fit, Sherlock supposed, that John, rather than the loud and busy bodied bees, liked to care for the quiet, and delicate flowers. While Sherlock had long ago deduced that John was a man who hungered for adventure, there was a side to him that longed to care for something, to have a purpose.  “I should like to come back again, next time you come to stay with your cousins, I would be grateful if you would send for me. I find myself intrigued by your beehives. I should like to have a chance to visit them again before the end of my stay.”

* * *

 

It became a habit, after breakfast, Sherlock and John would sit together in the morning room and discuss what plans they had for the day. John would excuse himself while Sherlock conducted his interview of each and every one of the staff. Afterwards, Sherlock would join John outside, and after checking up on the bees, John would take Sherlock out to the gardens and show him each different species of plant growing there and the devious method in which they must be cared for.

“So, how many more interviews do you have planned?” John asked as he weeded the garden one afternoon.

“Only a few more, most of them have been repeating the same useless stuff over and over. That while Mr. Watson is tempered man he would never hurt his wife, and that neither the Mister or Misses have acted or said anything unusual. Idiots the lot of them! They are clearly in denial over something they’ve seen or heard.”

John straightened up and looked over his shoulder. He watched as Sherlock struggled to reach a small branch from the tree he was trimming.

“Careful Sherlock, that ladder is very old; God knows why it hasn’t been thrown out. I’m surprised it hasn’t rotted yet.”

“Nonsense, I’m perfectly fine. It’s –grrrr- this infernal branch that’s – ungh- causing all the trouble!”

John stood up and shook his head. “You can’t even see what you’re doing. With all your moving about the ladder keeps shaking.”

“It’s fine John –arrrrgh –I’ll be down in – _tug-_ just – _tug_ \- one – _tug_ \- second! Ah ha! Ooooooh!”

As if watching a nightmare play before his eyes, the ladder began to tip and topple over. With the ground around it being wet from the watering of the plants, the ground had turned to mud and the ladder slipped from beneath Sherlock’s feet, sending him flying towards the ground. A sickening _CRACK_ rang through the air as John rushed to his friend’s side. As he check Sherlock over, John realized that Sherlock must have tried to break his fall with his hands and in doing so, landed on his right arm.

“J-John, I can’t feel my right arm.” Sherlock said with wide eyes and a wobbly voice.

“Yes you big idiot, you probably broke it! Now come on, put your other arm around my shoulders, I’ll have someone send for a doctor.”  With Sherlock stumbling alongside him, John half carried the lanky man back inside and disposed him into the first room he could. Once Sherlock was settled on a couch, John finally left his side to find the housekeeper. When he returned, John had a first aid kit and set to work on cleaning up Sherlock’s arm. The sensation was completely new to Sherlock, the feeling of John’s rough, callous, hands running up and down his arm. The tender caress he felt as the pair gently worked their way cleaning the dirt and blood off his limb. Sherlock felt his cheeks flush as his neck began to turn red. John’s large hands felt like a cradle as they held the arm John was examining.

“I don’t know if it’s broken, but it’s definitely going to be sore the next few days. You must be more careful Sherlock! You could have easily been hurt much worse!”

A strange humming made its way through Sherlock’s body. It seemed to come like a comfort, at the thought of John worrying for him so much. The humming left him feeling warm and satisfied. He suddenly had a need to feel the warmth that came with John Watson.

* * *

  

“This is ridiculous! I am a fully grown man; surely I can accomplish the simple task of dressing myself!”

Sherlock Holmes stood in the middle of his room, shirtless, and furious. A rather flustered young Molly stood by the dresser picking up Mr. Holmes dirty clothes as she explained the instructions she had been given.

“I’m sorry sir, but Mr. Watson gave me clear instructions to assist you in dressing this morning, as not to put stress or pressure on your bad arm.”

Sherlock grumbled under his breath and allowed the young maid to help him put on his shirt. His arm, which had luckily not been broken, was strained enough that the doctor ordered it to be put in a sling during the remainder of its healing. Despite Sherlock’s insisting that his arm was fine and a sling would only hinder him from his work, John made it his mission to see that Sherlock did as little work as possible and got plenty of rest. Sherlock felt touched at the lengths John would go to see that he got the best care. But Sherlock’s mood quickly turned sour as he realized that with his arm in a sling, he would not be able to help John with the bees or in the garden. So with no other plans, Sherlock decided that it was due time to investigate Mary and her husband’s room.

“Your cousin, David was it? Tell me more about him.”

Breakfast was a difficult affair; with his arm in a sling, it became impossible for Sherlock to feed himself. So to save himself from the embarrassment of asking for someone to feed him, Sherlock forced himself to relearn his motor skills with his left hand. John watched bemused, as his friend picked up a spoon with his hand, tried to scoop up some porridge and to bring it up to his mouth.

“I was never really friends with David, although we got to know each other quite well during the war, he always kept to himself. You should have seen him during the war, the things he could do with a gun! But I guess that was it, David was a soldier, I was a doctor, and we were complete opposites.”

“What about Mary? How close were you with her?”

John laughed, “Even less then David! I met her at some family gathering. She was everything as expected; kind, gracefully, sweetest thing alive, everything David ever wanted in a wife. But she was too much for me. It’s like a kid eating a bowl of sugar. At first, the idea seems too good to be true, but after awhile, it makes you sick to your stomach.”

Sherlock looked at John suspiciously, “David never found you a threat?”

John put down spoon, took a breath, and looked Sherlock in the eye. “David… he knows that women aren’t really my area.”

Sherlock felt his cheeks blushing as he read the meaning behind those words. He was amazed that someone would all but come out and say their preference in men. While it wasn’t illegal, there were many who opposed such a union.

“Are you sure you can manage by yourself? Would you like some fruit, or perhaps some toast would be easier?” John said, trying changing the subject.

 “No, no, this is fine. What was David and Mary’s private life like?”

“Honestly, I think David is bored of Mary. When we were in the army, he would talk about traveling and seeing the world. I’m surprised he hasn’t yet, even as children, he hated being cooped up inside this house. I feel bad for Mary; I know she never asked for any of this. If it weren’t for the fact that my cousin Harriet boasts about pairing the two together, I would have thought that their marriage was arranged.”

Sherlock gave John a curious look, “For someone who isn’t very close to David, you seem to know a lot about him.”

“We grew up together, every summer my family would spend the summer. David was the eldest, so he thought himself above us ‘babies’. Ha, I can still remember him faking an interest in his father’s paperwork just to have a chance away from us younger children.” John face changed from amused to sobering, “But then there was the war. While we didn’t see each other often, sometimes it was just a familiar face that kept us from going insane.”

As if coming out of a trance, John looked up towards Sherlock who was still struggling to eat him breakfast. “Really now, let me help you. If not as a doctor, than as your friend!”

Sherlock began to pout, but allowed John to scoop up the porridge and lift it to his mouth.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock sat drinking his tea as Gertrude brought in a young woman named Sally. It was obvious as she walked in that she was quite unhappy to be taken away from her duties. While she tried to keep a blank expression, her grinding of teeth and clenched hands gave her away.

“Tell me _Sally_ , what type of maid are you?”

“What do you mean sir?” Sally said without looking at Mr. Holmes, choosing instead to look at the wall behind him.

“Well, it’s obvious you have a more experienced training than any of the other maids. As you were brought in you tried to keep as little contact with Mrs. Gertrude as possible. Not that she has done anything to upset you; rather, you’re not use to her authority. This would lead me to believe you held a higher position. So tell me, what type of maid are you, or rather, were you?”

Sally swallowed the lump in her throat, “I was Mrs. Watson’s personal maid. I had been for the past year; I had started as a scullery maid and hard worked until Mrs. Watson noticed me, and requested that I be made her personal maid to her husband. I was demoted, I’ll give you that. But you’re wrong in saying Mrs. Gertrude wasn’t part of it! It’s cause of her that I was nearly fired! Mr. and Mrs. Watson are saints for giving me a second chance!”

At this Sherlock quirked an eyebrow, “Oh? Tell me, what happened.”

Sally was all too eager to tell her story, “Mrs. Watson had this family heirloom, a necklace with a giant blue diamond. Mrs. Gertrude told me I was to take it to town to be polished by some man who was some sort of expert with diamonds. So once I finished my duties, I went to the Missus’ room to find the necklace missing! The case was still there, but empty. So I went to find Mrs. Gertrude, and when I told her, she blabbed to the Mr. and Mrs. that it must have been I who took it! Apparently Mrs. Gertrude had the necklace put about an hour before I was to leave with it. I swear if it weren’t for Henry, one of the stable boys, for telling where I’d been that hour, I would have been sacked!”

“And no one else had been in Mrs. Watson’s room during that hour?” Sherlock asked.

“No one could have been! Only Mrs. Watson, Mrs. Gertrude and I had the keys to it!” Sally replied indignantly. 

“What about Mr. Watson? Does he have a key to Mrs. Watson’s room?”

“I’m not sure, but I believe he had a skeleton key that he carried with him at all times.”

Sherlock only nodded and ended the interview with “Thank Ms. Sally, you’ve been most helpful.”


	7. Fantasies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay.... So I know it's been awhile.. But to make up for it, here's some smut!

There were clear signs of a soldier living in the room, but something was off. There were obvious signs of a break in the man’s habit. The lack of personal items, the precision of order in the room spoke volumes above of the job of an average maid. But something had changed; indents from where the clock had been on the bedside table could be seen, as evidence that it had been moved further away.  So Mr. Watson had been sleeping later than usual, and by choice. Looking towards the dresser, it was clear what items had been there for years and what was newly purchased. Besides the basic grooming essential (hairbrush, comb, oil) there was a newly bought bottle of cologne and a special scented shaving cream.  Now that was certainly telling, the bottle was almost full, and the cream hardly used.

A piece of white paper was sticking out from one of the dresser drawers. Sherlock slowly pulled on the corner to reveal a letter addressed to Mr. Watson. In the right-hand corner was the return address stamped with black ink:

** Sir Eustace Pawn & Jewlery  **

Realizing that he might have found a vital piece of evidence, Sherlock tucked the letter into the sling around his arm. He planned to examine it later, with Sally’s story still fresh in his mind.

Sherlock turned away from the dresser and towards the rest of the room. The room kept the same theme of dark woodsy reds and creamy browns. The four-poster bed had a set of thick heavy outer curtains tied up at the head of the bed, and white silky inner curtains going around the perimeter of the bed. Each unique carving on the post intrigued Sherlock, the craftsmanship was distinctive and without match. Even so, there was a likeness in the dresser and bedside table, obviously made by the same man, probably hand-carved.

It was then that Sherlock noticed something odd, the embers in the fireplace were dying; a quick poked proved that they were still warm and had just recently been put out. Meaning not only had someone been in the room recently, but for some reason, there was a need to keep the room warm. With a quick glance at the floor, it was clear that someone had left the room in a hurry.  Suddenly, the bedroom swung open and Mrs. Gertrude stepped inside. “Mr. Holmes, how on earth did you get in here?” She sneered, “All the bedroom doors are meant to be locked!”

“Well perhaps then you’d best have a conversation with your staff, for it appears someone decided to play master while your employers are away. Not only was the door unlocked, but I suspect that one of your staff has been staying in this room overnight.”

Mrs. Gertrude looked shocked, her face seen transformed with an expression of pure fury. “Of course,” She forced out. “I’ll speak with them at once. I only came to put away this suits Mr. Watson bought, they were just delivered.”

“New suits?” Sherlock asked with false disinterest.

“Yes, Mr. Watson is accustomed to having his suits hand-delivered. This is the third suit in the past two weeks that has been delivered. Will that be all Mr. Holmes?”

“Yes, I’ll see myself out.”

 

New suits, new cologne, new shaving cream and a break from old habits. Something had happened to Mr. Watson, something caused to him have the desire to change his ways. But what of the dying embers?  Sherlock had a hard time believing that one of the servants suddenly decided to taste what it was like to be the master for once, not without Mrs. Gertrude finding out.

Sherlock briskly walked down the halls and straight to his room, not making eye contact with any of the servants along the way. Once inside his room, he locked the doors and took the note from the pawn shop out of his sling.

_Dear Mr. Watson,_

_I thank for your business with us and hope to continue and see again soon. I know there was a little disagreement about the price, but with news of an interested buyer I can now confidently say that we can not only meet your selling price, but exceed it. With the proof of your diamond’s genuineness, we are willing to pay double your selling price, **IF** you can have the diamond in our store and ready to sell by the end of the month. We hope to see you again very soon_

_~ Sir Eustace Favaron_

This was all the proof Sherlock needed to prove it was indeed Mr. Watson who had stolen his wife’s necklace. But what would that do for Mary? In the eyes of the law, almost nothing. In fact, any judge would consider the necklace as part of Mr. Watson’s property and his to do with. No, Sherlock needed to find out what he did with the money. But what of the man who had been in Mr. Watson’s room? Was he perhaps in on Mr. Watson’s plans? So far none of the staff seemed to like or respect Mr. Watson enough to go behind Mary Watson’s back. But, there was still others he had yet to talk with, perhaps they would shed some light on this mystery.

While Sherlock was still considering all of this, his bedroom door suddenly flew open with an almighty gust. Sherlock spun around on spot to see John standing in his doorway. The two men stared at each other; Sherlock, waiting for John to speak, and John, seemingly not sure of what to say. John breathed heavily, still clutching the door handle. When he finally spoke, it was in labored pants.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude, but when you didn’t show up for lunch, and Molly said she hadn’t seen you since this morning, I was worried something had happened to you.”

Glancing at the clock upon the wall, Sherlock noted that it was indeed well past time lunch was usually served. Sherlock smiled fondly at the man before him.

“I’m sorry to have worried you, am I really so much trouble that the moment I leave your sight, you worry?”

John gave a hearty laugh and replied, “No, but perhaps it is the doctor within me. I suppose I should give you some credit, even with your arm in a sling your work never rest.”

“The game is never over, John, I know that better than most. Now I have a request for you; since I have been a most horrendous guest and forced my host to eat alone, might I ask that you accompany me to the bee hives? I desire to observe them again and the weather has been suspiciously pleasant, so I would like to take this opportunity before all turns to gray.”

 “It would be my greatest pleasure.”

* * *

 

The next few days past much in the same; the day beginning with Sherlock and John breaking fast together and then going their separate ways to proceed in their own business. They met again for lunch and then went into the garden where Sherlock would visit with the bees and John would tend to the plants. The two men stayed by each other sides as much as they could throughout the day, only parting when their worked called them.

In case of the intruder in Mr. Watson’s bedroom, Sherlock made no progress.  After another visit to the room, it appeared that a maid had been sent and cleared out the room of any other evidence that might have been left. Sherlock visited the room three more times in the next few days before he concluded that whoever had been in there hadn’t returned. With almost no evidence to incriminate Mr. Watson, Sherlock felt almost clueless with how to proceed in his investigation.

Mary would be eagerly awaiting any news, and lord only knew when Mr. Watson himself would return. Time was not to be taken for granted, and Sherlock longed to bring Mary home in peace. 

* * *

 On the first day of the second week of Sherlock’s stay at Silver Leaf, he sat down with John at dinner that night with the intent on learning more about his cousin.

“John, I know this might seem personal and invasive, but David and Mary, as someone who has spent a considerable amount of time at Silver Leaf, surely you must know more about their private life than most.”

John raised an inquisitive brow at Sherlock’s statement. Instead of answering right away, he took a moment to spoon his soup, blow on it, then take a sip, before he spoke.

“Yes, but not much. Might I ask why the sudden interest in my cousin’s private lives?”

Not wanting to break Mary’s confidence, Sherlock took a second to think upon his response. “I meant your cousin’s wife at a ball through a mutual friend. Mrs. Watson had taken it upon herself to expose herself socially, and so I had heard of her before meeting her. We became acquaintances through written letters before she invited me to stay here at her estate. Besides you, she is perhaps one of the few people with whom I might consider calling a friend. However, I realize that while I know of her through public knowledge, there is still much I don’t know. As I have yet to meet your cousin David, you are perhaps the next person who knows her so personally.”

 “Mary is not known to have friends”

John’s response took Sherlock by surprise. He had never heard his companion speak with such a detestable tone, as if he were talking about something wretched and vile.

“In all my time of knowing her, I have never once met someone with whom she considers closer than most. I’ve seen her with guest after guest, and it’s all the same. The fake smiles and façade she puts on, I’ve seen them fall the moment she thinks she’s alone. What I said before, I know almost nothing of her, it’s still true. I’ve known her for years, had endless conversations with her, yet I still don’t feel as if I know her. There are many who would call themselves her friends, but almost none that I know of that she would return the sentiment.”

“What about David? From the stories, I’ve been told Mary loves your cousin very dearly.”

John’s face turned sour; his mouth turned downwards and his nose crinkled. “What Mary and David felt once is very different from what they feel now. I have no doubt in my mind that Mary loves David, but it is not a healthy type of love. When they met, Mary was like a child; sweet and innocent, but that innocence is now gone.  While neither has confided this in me, I believe David married out of duty, and Mary out of the fantasy she created in her own mind. Once the fantasy was shattered, she realized what a fool she made out of herself, and now refuses any friends, in fear that everything will fall away at the seams.”

Sherlock wasn’t sure what to believe, part of John’s conclusion did make sense. Mary allowing herself to believe in a fairy tale, only later to realize she’d married a monster. How long had she suffered David’s hands before she decided enough was enough? Sherlock wanted to reveal his true purpose for being here at Silver Leaf, but something felt off. Before, John claimed not to know anything about David and Mary’s personal lives. Yet here he was telling Sherlock that everything about them was false.

However, none of this could change the way Sherlock felt about John. He could no longer deny that he felt a strong affection for the man. Even with the knowledge of John’s past in the military, there was something soft and gentle about John. The way he personally overtook the caring of Sherlock, it touched him. Even though they both sat together for meals, Sherlock had a strong desire to get close to him, to touch him in one way or another. The urge to reach out and place his hand somewhere along John would grip him so forcefully that Sherlock had to make it an effort to keep his hands to himself.

“And your cousin David? Does he no longer feel love towards his wife?” Sherlock said paying close attention to John’s face, telling himself that it was only to gage his reaction and not to commit it to memory.

“David… has always been standoffish. I think at one point he was definitely fond of her. But I would hesitate to call it love. I don’t think David truly knew what it’s likes to love, at the time. They were both so young when they met, and David, although he never admitted it, was being pressured to get married. However, I think that maybe David is starting to regret his choices in life.”

“Do you think David is planning on leaving Mary?”

“He wouldn’t, not without the proper cause. I know David well enough to know that he would never intentionally bring shame upon the family name. But I will admit it would probably be the best for the both of them to be separated. As along as the two of them are stuck together, they won’t ever find any happiness.” 

Sherlock, who had taken the seat next to John at the dinner table, finally mustered up the courage and took hold of John’s hand. “You care for David and Mary very much.”

“For as much as my family seems to want to forget me, they’re still family. Of course, I care for them.” 

Sherlock could sense the tension rising between them. As John spoke, Sherlock stared deeply into his eyes. Light gray met dark, and the two seemed to be gravitating towards each other. Sherlock watched as John’s eyes flickered to his lips and felt a heated blush rise upon his cheeks. As John licked his lips, Sherlock felt John wrap his fingers around the tips his of own that had curved around John’s hand.

“Sherlock…” John all but whispered.

The moment was soon broken, however, when in flurry of movement, the servants came to remove their empty bowls and brought out the second course. John retracted his hand in favor of cutting into the meal that was placed before.

Sherlock stared at the roasted duck with despise. How dare something so insignificant such as a dead animal ruin their beautiful and intimate moment. Sherlock cut into the piece of meat with as much force as he could without breaking the plate. He shoved a piece into his mouth and chewed with such vengeance that his jaw began to ache. Hearing a stifled giggle, Sherlock looked up angrily expecting to see one of the servants mocking him. Instead, he saw John staring at him fondly with an amused look upon his face. Realizing how foolish he was being ( _taking his anger out on a roasted duck, indeed_ ), Sherlock let out a giggle of his own, and shared a small, secret smile with John, before both men returned to their meals.

Much to Sherlock’s displeasure, the rest of the night was uneventful. Both matters of David and Mary, and of Sherlock and John’s moment, seemed to be put to rest and a non verbal request to not bring up either subject was made by John in the form of tea by the fire in the den, then by retiring early for the night. While Sherlock did join John for his cup of tea, both men occupied themselves, one with a book, and the other with the daily paper. The conversation stayed light and when it ended they basked in companionable silence. Once John had retired for the night, Sherlock sat by the fireside for only a little while longer before retiring himself. His mind returning to the matter for Mr. Watson’s room and the letter, Sherlock disrobed and laid down in his bed, intending to spend much of the night in his mind palace, but soon drifted off within moments of his head touching his pillow.

* * *

 

 ~...~

_He could feel the sun warming the side of his face as he lay in a grassy patch beneath a tree. A slight breeze whirled through the air and rustled the leaves above him. Everything was calm and quiet; only a bird’s soft melody could be heard as it flew by him to land on a branch in a nearby tree. Suddenly, he felt pressure around his left hand, looking over he saw someone lying next to him. Turning over he saw that the body next to him was John Watson; with his eyes closed and a pleasant smile gracing his face, the man looked just as with peace with the world as Sherlock was. Looking down, Sherlock realized that John was in fact holding his hand, stroking his knuckles with his thumb._

_“Nice day for a swim?”_

_John’s voice was clear, soft, and sweet. Just as soon as those words were spoken, Sherlock found himself in the middle of a cool lake. Hearing laughter, he turned around to see John swimming in circles around him._

_“Do you know how to swim, Sherlock?”_

_Sherlock shook his head, even though consciously he knew he could. John stood next to him in the water and slipped a wet arm around his waist. “If you trust me, I can show you.”_

_Sherlock nodded, and allowed John to lead him further into the water. Soon, his feet could no longer touch the bottom of the lake and John’s arm left his waist and slid down his arm to hold his hand._

_“First, you must learn to float.”_

_John stood behind Sherlock as he spoke, and took his hand from Sherlock’s so he could rest both of his on Sherlock’s forearms. Sherlock could feel John’s chest as he stood behind him. He could feel the small drops of water dripping from John’s body onto his own. With every inhale John took, Sherlock could feel the exhale along his neck._

_“Lean back, and trust me.”_

_As Sherlock leaned back, he felt John’s muscles flex as they held his weight. Soon he could feel the cool air hit his chest as it rose from beneath the water. It was only a moment later that water flooded his ears and he had to make an effort as to not let any enter his mouth or nose. John’s hands soon left his body and for a moment Sherlock could no longer sense him. For a brief few moments, Sherlock felt weightless and alone. The only noise he could hear was the water, rushing in and out of his ears._

_As dreams tend to do, the scene suddenly changed. While Sherlock still felt weightless and alone, he was no longer floating in the lake. Instead, he was lying on something soft and warm, a solid material beneath him that he could grip and move atop of._

_Just as Sherlock went to open his eyes and stand up, a hand met his chest and pressed him to lay down again. John stood above him, his eyes gazing deeply into Sherlock’s. Another hand came up to touch his face; it started at his cheek and moved up until it buried itself in Sherlock’s hair. Two realizations revealed themselves to Sherlock as his eyes began to wonder. The first was that John was not standing above him, but rather he was on the bed as well, hovering over Sherlock, caging him with his body. The second was that both he and John were very naked._

_As Sherlock’s eyes returned to John he saw something flash in them – hunger. John looked like a predator about to lunge at his prey. This thought sent shivers down Sherlock’s spine. As Sherlock felt John’s skin slide along his own, he tried helplessly to maintain control over his becomingly obvious desire for the man._

_“Shhh, it’s alright, trust me.”_

_Sherlock closed his eyes and let his body relax into the bed. A soft pair of lips met his own in a gentle kiss. It was sweet and chaste, John slowly took the time to open Sherlock’s mouth. The swipe of John’s tongue on Sherlock’s lower lip left him gasping. Once Sherlock’s mouth opened, John quickly plunged his tongue inside Sherlock’s wet and waiting mouth. Both tongues were soon sliding against each other, and a battle of dominance began._

_Sherlock, remembering that he had the rest of his body, grasped John around his waist and dragged him closer, bringing their bodies together. With a whimper, Sherlock gave himself over to John, allowing to thrust into his mouth and do as he pleased. John however ripped himself away from Sherlock’s mouth, he came away panting as he reattached himself to Sherlock’s neck, sucking and licking it, leaving as many marks as he could._

_Sherlock was practically delirious, drunk on adrenaline and the feeling of John’s hands roaming over his body; starting at his chest and shoulders, and soon making their way down to his waist. As John continued his assault on Sherlock’s neck, Sherlock began to lose himself to instinct, and began to slowly spread his legs, allowing John to rest between them. As John’s hands made their way to his navel, Sherlock  felt one hand come back up to cradle his face, while the other stayed below, and grabbed hold of his cock and gave a slow, firm stroke._

_“John!” Sherlock gasped out, his hands now clutching John’s back._

_“Hush, my lovely, just let me love you.”_

_“Yes! Yes, oh John!”_

_The strokes became faster and the grip became tighter, Sherlock arched off the bed, his mouth open and chest heaving. As John’s wonderful, and glorious, hand worked faster and faster, Sherlock felt himself losing control and nearing his climax._

_But suddenly it all stopped, and with a small kiss to the corner of Sherlock’s mouth, and a whispered “…not just yet, my beauty.”_

_Sherlock felt John rearrange himself above him, and then careful fingers make their way to Sherlock's entrance._

_“Just relax, trust me, I’ll take care of you.”_

_One… then two… then a third._

_A moan and a gasp left Sherlock’s throat and he felt John’s fingers pump in and out of his arse. Feather light kiss graced his face as John’s finger seem to be reaching further and further inside Sherlock._

_“JOHN!” Sherlock shouted as he felt the tips of John fingers grazes something inside of him._

_“Hmm, just give me a moment love.”_

_John’s fingers left Sherlock, and an empty and hollow feeling was all that was left  in him. But soon something much larger and hot pressed up against him. Sherlock let out a whimper as he was stretched far beyond than what John had prepared him for. At first the stretch felt like it might last forever, but then it stopped, and John was fully seated against Sherlock._

_“O-oh, you wonderful beauty! So tight! So warm!” John said breathlessly._

_For a moment nothing happened, Sherlock simply took in the feeling of John inside of him, connecting the two as one. But then John began to pull out, leaving only the head of his cock in, before pushing back inside Sherlock’s warmth. That’s how to it stayed for a while, slowly pulling almost all the out, before pushing all the way back in. Once they were both accustomed to the feeling, John slowly began to speed up._

_“J-John!” Was the only thing Sherlock could answer with as he hung onto the man above him, letting him do with him as he pleased._

_“Sherlock! Sherlock!” John responded, peppering kisses on Sherlock’s shoulders as he thrusted in and back out._

_Sherlock’s eyes flew open and John reached between them and took hold of Sherlock’s cock and pumped in time with his thrusting._

_With a scream of John’s name Sherlock finally found his climax, and with the feeling of Sherlock clenching around him, John came a few moments later._

_“…Oh, you beauty…”_

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's only a little bit of smut because there's gonna be more later. Annnnnnd! I do have the next chapter started so you won't have to wait, and I've also got a kinda map/summary/plan for the rest of the story so I know exact *kinda* what I'm going to do next! I already have this story planned out with an ending, I'm just working the fine details. 
> 
> Also! *Note Tag Change!* I realized that some of the tags didn't make sense so I did some changes, yes there is one spoiler in the tags (OR IS THERE?!), but depending on how bad or good of a writer I actually am, some of you probably already guessed that. 
> 
> Oh yeah, tip for ya'll! If you don't have a beta and are worried that you have mistakes, use Google Translate to read it back to you! I just started doing that and wished I done that a lot soon!


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